


Wolf Moon

by nessbess



Series: Werewolves of Chicago [5]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M, mickey is Ian's anchor, werewolf!Ian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 19:20:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1481092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nessbess/pseuds/nessbess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian snarled, his eyes gleaming blue and teeth elongating as he snapped at Mickey's face. Mickey skittered back out of reach, heart in his throat as he watched the rage in Ian's eyes shift to panic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wolf Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Full moon time! (Mostly just an excuse for more worried!mickey)

Until Ian slammed his fork down onto his plate and met Mickey's gaze with an irked glare, Mickey had thought he was being stealthy.

"What?" the redhead snapped, looking remarkably nonthreatening with a dribble of syrup on his chin.

"What what?" Mickey retorted eloquently, his eyebrows climbing as he dared Ian to make something of it. He speared another pancake on his fork, stuffing it whole into his mouth without breaking eye contact.

"You've been staring at me all morning. Do I have something on my face?" Ian demanded.

"Yeah. You do, actually," Mickey remarked casually through a mouthful of half-chewed pancake.

Ian snatched a napkin, his frown deepening when the paper stuck to the drop of syrup on his chin. He scrubbed at the spot before balling up the napkin, arms folded on the table and his chin jutting as he stared back at Mickey with an expression he'd heard Lip dub 'The Chin'. Mickey sighed, knowing from experience that once The Chin came out, Ian was like a dog with a bone. A very silent, guilt-inducing dog with a bone that looked very much like Mickey. And not in a good way. Not the kind of bone that led to fun.

Mickey carded tattooed fingers through his greasy hair. "Just... you know what day it is, yeah?" he asked.

The ice in Ian's gaze stuttered in confusion as they flickered to the scribbled-on calendar on the fridge before flicking back to Mickey.

"Full moon tonight," Mickey watched as the confusion in Ian's eyes melted away to something hard before the younger boy glowered down at his pancakes.

"So?" he ground out.

" _So_ , we need to figure out what we're gonna do with your wolfed-out ass come night time," Mickey remarked with an eye roll.

"Jesus Christ, Mickey," Ian groused. "We don't need to do anything! Nothing is going to happen! It'll be fine."

"Oh, so you remember what happened the last full moon, then?"

"Fuck. You." Ian said firmly as he seized his dishes, carrying them to the kitchen.

Mickey shoved back from the table violently, his chair squealing against the tiled floor as he followed Ian. "Why you gotta be such a pussy, huh?" he sneered. "You don't know what's gonna happen. I don't know what's gonna happen. There are kids living in both of our fucking houses, man. What if you hurt one of them?" He shoved against Ian's chest, pushing him back against the counter. "You think you're such a big man who can control it, but you don't even remember what happened last time!"

Ian snarled, his eyes gleaming blue and teeth elongating as he snapped at Mickey's face. Mickey skittered back out of reach, heart in his throat as he watched the rage in Ian's eyes shift to panic.

"Easy, man," he said lowly. "Take it easy, yeah?" He relaxed his grip on the skillet handle, still warm from the stove, ashamed that his first instinct had been to reach for a weapon. This was _Ian_.

But was it?

Mickey approached the younger boy slowly, as one might approach a wild animal. Ian was panting as if he'd just run a marathon, his eyes fearful as he watched Mickey come closer. When Mickey stopped a foot away, Ian whined low in his throat. Mickey's hand twitched in an aborted move to trace the shadows beneath Ian's cobalt eyes. "I know what it means when a werewolf's eyes shine blue," he said in a voice gentler than he'd anticipated. "I know you don't remember hurting anyone. I know it isn't something you - the _real_ you - would ever do. But -" he took a deep breath, watching Ian's claws slip back into his fingers, "We need to be careful. Just this once; just until we know what to expect. You don't want to hurt Debbie or Carl or Liam next."

Ian sagged, the wolf fading from his features. "Okay," he gave in. "What do we have to do?"

~*~

All it had taken to get Mandy to empty the Milkovich house was the mention that a full moon was that night. She, like the rest of the Milkovich clan, was smarter than most gave her credit for. Her head had been more together ever since Kenyatta had left, spouting shit about how Mandy's friends were all possessed and wanting nothing to do with her. She remembered the way Ian had threatened him. Mickey's casual mention of the moon was all it took for her to clue in to the danger and clear out of the house, taking Svetlana, Svetlana's freaky dyke, and Svetlana's squalling brat with her.

As twilight began to settle around them, Mickey led Ian into his freshly - hopefully - werewolf-proofed bedroom. They'd spent the afternoon boarding up the window and reinforcing the door with panels from his dad's dresser, a fresh padlock upon the door. Mickey wasn't too concerned about his steel bed frame, but said a silent goodbye to the remainder of his furniture and his pillows. On second thought - he ignored Ian's half-hearted chuckles when he grabbed the pillows and stuffed them into Mandy's room.

"Won't your dad be pissed about his dresser?" Ian wondered as he eyed the renovations bitterly. Mickey could tell that he hated that he might need them to keep himself in check.

Mickey shrugged. "He'll be in the can for another couple o' months," he said indifferently. "Plenty of time to steal him a new one. Not like he ever used it anyways. Clothes were all over the fuckin floor and two of the drawers were empty."

Ian nodded with a distracted smile, fidgeting before he gingerly perched upon the edge of Mickey's bed. For a moment, Mickey was struck by how young he looked. The wounded puppy expression on Ian's face was one that Mickey had seen before - more times than he liked to admit. It was the look on his face when Monica had shown her face those years earlier, the look when Ian had been afraid that Mickey was going to kill Frank and when Lip had made it into West Point so effortlessly, destroying all of Ian's dreams. It was the look he'd worn when Mickey had told Ian he was nothing but a warm mouth, the look he'd worn when he'd watched Svetlana writhe on top of Mickey and the look he'd worn when Mickey had slipped the ring onto her finger. It was a look that meant fear and pain for both of them.

Huffing a small sigh, Mickey sat on the bed beside him. He knew from experience that it was better to just let the kid get whatever it was off his chest from the get-go. It was easier than trying to clean up the mess when everything inevitably went to shit after. He rested his elbows on his knees, hands clasped, and waited. He didn't have to wait long.

 "I remember what happened the last full moon," Ian admitted in as soft voice, as though he were hoping that Mickey wouldn't hear him. "I remember everything." His hands flailed helplessly in the air before he clasped them between his knees. "I remember hurting that kid, tasting his blood."

Ian's knuckles were white with the force of his grip as he willed them not to tremble. Mickey couldn't see Ian's downturned face, but he could tell by the shaking of his shoulders that the redhead was crying. He shifted his leg, knee pressing into Ian's thigh as he wordlessly encouraged Ian to continue. With a shuddering gasp, he did.

"I didn't mean to. I didn't _want_ to. I just couldn't stop." He looked up, suddenly earnest as he met Mickey's gaze. "He gave me something to smoke," Ian explained, "the one who bit me. Some kind of plant. Purple flowers. He said it would make the whole experience more real, like it used to be back when people still believed in werewolves and witches and things." He laughed bitterly, watching his fingers twist into his jeans. "It just made it so I couldn't control it. I _was_ the wolf, but I couldn't control it. It was like I was trapped in the back of my mind. I couldn't do anything but watch."

Mickey wanted to look away. He wasn't good with the emotional bullshit. Never had been. Out of all the Milkoviches, that was Mandy's job, not his. He didn't know how to... He couldn't... But he knew he owed it to Ian to look at him, to understand just how much this had broken Ian, how long he had kept it buried. He knew it was his own fault. If not for him, Ian wouldn't have felt the need to run off to the military. If not for him, Ian wouldn't be a werewolf. If not for him, Ian wouldn't be a murderer.

Mickey chewed his lip and, hesitating only briefly, rested his hand on top of Ian's. The redhead latched onto him, threading their fingers together with a speed that surprised him.

"He was just a kid," Ian's voice quaked as he stared down at their entwined hands. "Just a fucking kid. We weren't even supposed to be there. We weren't supposed to have left camp." Mickey felt a dampness on his wrist as one of Ian's tears found its home. "I see him all the time, lying there on the sidewalk. I remember the way he tasted, the way his bones cracked beneath my hands." He looked back at Mickey, and Mickey felt a stab of anguish at the broken look on Ian's face. "And you know the worst part?" Ian asked. He didn't wait for Mickey's head shake before plowing on, "I liked it. The wolf was so satisfied at what it'd done. I think I might do it again. I almost - with Kenyatta the other day..."

"No," Mickey snorted, shaking his head before Ian had even finished speaking. "That was the wolf, not you. You wouldn't hurt anyone. Hell," he snorted a laugh, "you couldn't even hurt that fucking mouse we found into the Kash & Grab that one time. It was the drugs - the plant thing, whatever he gave you. You'll be able to control it this time. You fought it with Kenyatta. It won't happen again."

Ian gripped Mickey's hand with a ferocity that almost made him wince. "Swear it," he commanded.

Confused, Mickey blinked at Ian's suddenly determined glare. "What?"

"Swear you won't let it happen again."

Mickey laughed shakily, but Ian didn't budge, squeezing Mickey's fingers even harder. "Alright, alright!" Mickey gasped out at the spike of pain. "Jesus Christ, I swear!"

Satisfied, Ian released him, meeting Mickey's glower with his own lofty regard.

"Fuck," Mickey massaged his bruised fingers. Enhanced werewolf strength was a pain in his ass. He swore again as the cuckoo clock he'd stolen for Mandy's fifth birthday pitifully chirped out the hour.

Ten o'clock.

"Any idea when this shit show's supposed to start?" Mickey rubbed at his lower lip.

Ian shrugged. "Midnight's what they usually say in the movies and stuff, isn't it? Witching Hour and all that."

As it happened, they didn't have to wait that long.

"Mick," Ian called in warning as he felt the change come on.

Mickey lounged against the wall facing the bed, calm as he watched the younger boy. "I know," he acknowledged easily, making no move to leave.

"Please," Ian whimpered as he dug his claws into the mattress. "I don't know if I'll... I don't _know_."

Mickey watched him wordlessly before he stood. His hand on the door, he paused when he heard Ian's voice again. "Remember," he said, his voice sounding strange through the thick fangs growing in his mouth, "You swore."

"Fuck off," Mickey snorted, "Ain't nothin' gonna happen, Firecrotch." Nonetheless, he nodded once at Ian before he shut and padlocked the door, hating the relief he saw in Ian's eyes at the agreement. He hated that Ian felt it was necessary. He snorted quietly to himself when he remembered, only hours earlier, it had been him who wanted to lock Ian up and Ian who had scoffed and fussed. Perhaps acknowledging what had happened had made Ian see the danger of his situation, as well as freeing Mickey from his worries now that he knew what he could be facing.

Mickey sank down with his back to the door, settling in for the long night ahead.

It wasn't long before the scratching began, making Mickey scramble away from the door in an awkward crab-walk. They sounded long and deep, making Mickey grateful that they'd had the foresight to pad the door with extra wood. Even so, he feared that the door wouldn't hold Ian for long. Accompanying the scratching sounds, Mickey could hear a high-pitched, canine whine. He almost wished he had a video camera or something to record it with; as it was, he was never going to let Ian live it down. He chuckled quietly to himself.

His mirth was short lived as, behind the door, Ian let out a sound that was more a guttural roar than a wolf's howl. The hair along his arms and the back of his neck stood at attention and he shivered.

Mickey stumbled to Mandy's room to grab her dresser as the pace of the scratching sounds increased. Grunting with the effort, he pushed it down the hallway, jamming it against his doorframe in the hopes that it might be just a little harder for Ian to break through.

Just when he was sure that his door was about to give in, setting a fully-wolfed Ian loose in his house, the scratching stopped. Wary, Mickey climbed on top of Mandy's dresser, pressing his ear against the door. The whining had resumed and, here and there, Mickey heard a questioning scratch or clink of claws against some surface or another. A loud ripping noise had him wincing, mourning his mattress. In the following silence, he heard a few snuffling noises, then the rumbling purr Ian sometimes made when they were pressed together in the laziness after sex. He smirked, imagining a puppy-Ian rolling about in his mattress stuffing.

He relaxed, still sat upon the dresser with his ear pressed to the door, when it seemed Ian was content to bask in his destroyed bedding. His eyes began to drift closed.

That was when he heard the loud smash. Mickey bolted upright, scrambling off of the dresser and shoving it out of the way. His fingers fumbled with the lock, desperate in his haste to throw the door open. There was only one thing in his room that would make that sound: the window.

Mickey tore the padlock off of the door, stumbling into the room as he forcefully thrust the door open. As he'd expected, his room was a mess. A warzone of glass shards, wood splinters, and tiny tumble weeds of cotton. His walls and furniture all bore deep scratches and several of his posters dangled sadly. His room was also empty.

Mickey hesitated, eyeing his gun drawer for precious seconds before he firmly banished the thought from his mind. Sure, Ian had made him swear. But this was _Ian_. Even if he was currently a bit more hairy and impulsive than normal, it was still Ian. Mickey would deal with everything else if it came down to it, but he couldn't shoot Ian. He climbed out of the busted window, cursing as his hand caught on a jagged edge, painting a sanguine streak across his palm.

"Goddamnit, Gallagher," he huffed as he realized the werewolf was nowhere in sight. He started around the front of his house, hoping he'd have better luck finding him in the glow of streetlights. He hoped he hadn't gotten too far.

"Heeeeere, Fido!" Mickey singsonged as he grabbed a crowbar from his porch, poking at the scraggly bushes Mandy called a garden. "Heeeeere, Fido, Fido, Fido! Stop fucking hiding, you douche bag." His efforts were rewarded with a rumbling growl from the shadows of the neighbor's house. "Hey!" Mickey grinned, tossing aside the crowbar. "Look at that, you call a dog and a dog appears."

In the shadows, Ian looked huge. No, Mickey revised as he stepped into the light, Ian looked huge, period. He supposed he wasn't any bigger than he always was, but he cast off a certain menace, all wolfy like he was, that made him seem massive. And hairy.

"Look, man," Mickey said casually as Ian approached, his wolf-scruff making his face seem twice as wide as usual, "I'm really not into the beard. Can we get you a razor or some shit?"

Ian's response was a roar, identical to the one Mickey had heard earlier.

"Alright, alright," he held up his hands in surrender, trying not to let on how much Ian's lack of Ian-ness was scaring him. "Keep it. See if I care."

But Ian had stilled, his gleaming eyes fastened on the cut on Mickey's palm. Mickey followed his gaze. "Yeah, sliced it on the window," he shrugged. "Your fault."

He startled when Ian suddenly moved forwards, causing the werewolf to freeze and give an unhappy whine.

"Okay," he said, "Just slow, yeah?"

Ian started towards him again, slower this time, not stopping until he could lick his tongue slowly up Mickey's palm.

"Are you fuckin' serious?" Mickey protested, but he gave in when he felt the ache fade to a dull tingle. As he watched, the skin began to knit together. Soon, all that was left was a thin, white scar. "Huh," he remarked dazedly, squinting at his palm. "You should drool in a bottle, we could hawk that shit."

Ian shoved his face into Mickey's neck, inhaling deeply. "Jesus, you're like a fucking carpet," Mickey huffed, squirming away from the tickle of hair along Ian's jaw. The werewolf grumbled unhappily. "Alright, fine," Mickey surrendered. "You wanna cuddle, let's go to the fucking couch or something, yeah? It's freezing balls out here."

**Author's Note:**

> Took a few liberties with wolf bane. Also werewolf slobber is the new phoenix teardrop. My story, I'm God, I do what I want.
> 
> And yep, poor wolfy Ian just wants cuddles and all of Mickey's furniture just keeps getting in the way.


End file.
